CSI: Beauty Deeper Than Skin
by A Rhea King
Summary: Nick has been hunting the Red Dress killer for a year. When his latest victim is discovered alive, he knows who did it, and how he kills. What he doesn't have is evidence, and if he doesn't find it soon, there may be another Red Dress Jane Doe.
1. Chapter 1

**BEAUTY DEEPER THAN SKIN**

**By A. Rhea King**

Chapter 1

Doc Robbins spread a blue, sterile cloth out on the metal surgical tray. He placed each tool on it as if he were setting a table for a czar. The silence of the morgue was a comfort to him and gave him time to think about the victim that was coming…

#

A steady drizzle fell on the thirsty Mojave Desert. It was a sign of fall ending and winter coming.

That wasn't what Nick thought about as he drove up the bumpy road toward the revolving blue and red lights of police car ahead. Parked in front of the car was the black coroner vehicle. He'd passed an ambulance leaving as he turned onto the road, something he expected but with regret.

He knew this call – there had been six calls just like it in the last eight months. The Red Dress serial killer had left another _gift_ in the desert; another body Nick was unlikely to identify. That fact tore him between gut-wrenching frustration and fire spitting anger. He kept it to himself that he was hoping, even praying, that when they did find the killer, he'd do something, anything, that would give Nick a reason to put a bullet between his eyes.

It was a minor surprise Nick how quick Ecklie had given in to letting Nick be lead on the case. After his bought of insanity, Ecklie seemed to give into his requests quicker. Was it sympathy or fear that drove that? Nick couldn't decide, and he didn't care. As long as every Red Dress Jane Doe stayed in his care. He thought of them as his girls. Despite his determination to see their killer caught, it ate at him that so far he hadn't been able to give his girls the justice they deserved.

Nick parked and got out, flicking up the hood of his raincoat. He grabbed his field case from the passenger seat and jogged toward David. The medical examiner was covered head to toe in protective gear, even wearing a face shield.

Nick pulled his camera out from under his raincoat and started snapping off photographs before he reached the scene. Mother Nature loved to make his job harder, didn't she? When he died, he was going to look her up her and give her an earful about it.

He was now close enough to see the latest victim and despite seeing six others like her, the sight stole his breath.

Like her sisters-of-crime, this woman had been starved until her skin was taut across her bones, making her look more like a skeleton. Her eyes, now sunken in their sockets, stared at the dark overcast sky. She wore a necklace of pearls strung on silver. Her lower torso was covered by trash, but he recognized the red spaghetti straps of the knee-length red silk red dress. He knew she would be barefoot, there would be signs of recent sex but no semen, no signs of restraints, and it was likely he'd never identify her – just like the other six. He would label her file Red Doe #7. He'd chosen to give his girls some of their identity back by giving them a unique name, but even the press was calling the women Red Dress Jane Doe, so he wasn't sure he'd accomplished much.

David reached in his kit and pulled out a liver thermometer.

"Do it when you get her to the morgue, Super Dave. We gotta get her out of the rain before I lose everything," Nick told the assistant coroner.

He nodded and then waved the officer over. He handed him a pair of elbow length gloves. "Put these on and help us uncover the body."

Nick dug a pair from his hip pocket and the three uncovered her.

"Grab her ankles," David ordered the officer.

The officer hesitated. "But the others had—"

"Come on, man. Grab her ankles!" Nick ordered.

The officer grabbed her ankles and they placed her in the waiting body bag. David and the officer picked the bag up and ran it to the wagon. David sprinted around to the driver's side and got in. He paused to wipe off his glasses, then started the engine and headed down the hill toward the highway.

#

Robbins didn't look up when David wheeled a gurney in and parked it next to the surgical table. David had just missed the antics of him pulling on his Hazmat suit, but he hadn't pulled the helmet on yet.

"Another Red Dress Jane Doe," David announced.

Robbins shook his head. "I wish they'd find this guy and throw the book at him."

"And drop him in an oubliette."

Robbins smiled, looking up when David unzipped the body bag. He noticed water dripping off the body bag and David. "When did it start raining?"

"About an hour ago. Nick wasn't happy about that." David easily lifted the body by himself and placed her on the autopsy table.

"In evidence versus Mother Nature, she always aids the criminal."

"Yeah. It's too bad we can't lock Mother Nature up for abetting."

Robbins chuckled with David.

"I hung up a fresh suit in the locker room for you. Nick must have called ahead, Ray's already getting geared up."

"Nasty old scabies. I don't even want to imagine the place these poor women were held before he murdered them." David headed toward the locker room in the back.

Robbins agreed. The mites were near impossible to get rid of, and both he and David had been out for a month when the first body was brought in and they discovered she was infested with them. They were now much more careful when a Red Dress Jane Doe came in.

He hobbled around the surgical table to begin examining the body, deciding where he wanted to start the autopsy. He looked up at her face, pausing to wonder if David or the paramedics had closed her eyes.

He looked up when Langston came in. "Ready for another disappointing autopsy?"

"Have some faith, Doc. She might give Nick something new."

Robbins scoffed.

Langston stopped on the other side, looking over the body. He pointed at the rash and scabs on her skin. "Scabies on her too. I bet they'll have the same DNA markers as the others had"

"Wouldn't it be nice," Robbins asked, "if the killer would go in to the hospital or a clinic for treatment?"

"That would be too easy," Langston commented. There was a touch of anger in it.

Robbins pulled his helmet on and zipped it closed. He checked that his respirator and helmet mic were on.

"Can you hear me?"

Langston and David both answered, "Yes."

Robbins laid his hands on the side of the woman's face to tilt it while he examined the skin for injuries. He let go, staring curiously at her face.

"Her skin is still very pliable," Robbins said. "Did you take her liver temperature, David?"

David came back into the room, lumbering in his Hazmat suit.

Langston pushed on her skin. "No fixed lividity. It's as if her blood is still circulating."

David answered Robbins. "Nick was more concerned about preserving the evidence and asked me to take it when I got her here."

"She couldn't have been dead for more than four or five hours," Langston commented.

"She might have had a high fever before death, I guess." Robbins turned to pick up a liver thermometer. "Although none of the other victims showed signs of a fever."

"She has beautiful eyes, doesn't she? I noticed that at the crime scene," David asked Langston. "But they aren't clouded. That's strange."

"There are chemicals that might keep them from clouding," Langston pointed out. "I'll have to have Henry test for those."

Robbins turned, looking at her face. Her eyes were open.

"Her eyes were closed a minute ago," Robbins said.

David shuddered. "Those after death remind me of zombie movies. Where do you want me to start?"

Robbins and Langston both smiled at the young man's humor.

"I'll have you start with the Y," Robbins told him.

Robbins began probing for the right spot to push the end of the thermometer in. He glanced up when David clanged something against the tray. David was trying to start the bone saw and it was being finicky.

"Give it a whap with your hand right over the made in Japan. That usually works," Robbins told him.

David did and the saw burst to life. David grinned and Langston chuckled.

"It's a good thing we're not surgeons down here," Robbins commented. "We'd be killing them off with all this old equipment."

Robbins pushed a little harder than he meant to against her abdomen and felt her flinch. His head snapped around, his eyes going to the spot. He moved his fingers, watching the white spot turn back to ashen gray.

"What is it, Doc?" Langston asked.

"Did you see that?" Robbins asked back.

"See what?"

Robbins looked up at her face. A tear was sliding down her face. If his guess about the time frame of the body dump were correct, a tear wouldn't be entirely unheard of. But with the flinch, with the skin returning to color – however sickly a color it was…

Was she… His mind didn't finish the question that was causing a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach.

Robbins moved toward her head. He leaned over her, finding her eyes had slid as far to the side as they could to watch David. Pools of saline were welling up and as he watched, another tear slid down her face.

His body cast a shadow over her face and jerky and slow her eye met his. His heart skipped a beat and then a second, and he had to catch his breath.

"David, turn off the saw," Robbins ordered.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"David, turn off the saw," Langston ordered louder.

David did, looking at him. "What's wrong?"

This exact moment was a secret horror of Robbins and it was happening for the second time in his career. '_She's alive and she just woke up in my morgue! Oh God!_'

"Get my stethoscope," Robbins demanded as he pulled off his helmet.

"Is she crying? How is she crying?"

"Stethoscope, David!"

David hurried over to the desk and brought it back. Robbins put the earpieces in and pressed the end to her chest. Her breathing was short and very shallow, and her heart was beating at a dangerous slow and irregular pace. Was she dying or trying to come back to life?

"Call an ambulance," Robbins ordered.

"Is she—"

Robbins yanked the stethoscope off. "CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

David ran over to the phone and dialed.

"Ray, grab everything you can find to cover her."

Langston ran to the room, tearing off his helmet as he disappeared.

Robbins tossed his stethoscope, not caring where it landed. He hobbled to a metal cupboard and ripped open the door. He grabbed all the sheets in it and hobbled back. Her body was beginning to lightly shiver, the beginnings of hypothermia. He knew her weakened body couldn't handle being cold and wet; the race to save her life had begun.

David ran back to him. "They're on their way. What can I do? Oh God! Ma'am, I—"

"Not now, David. Go to the lab and grab anything you can to cover her. Hurry!"

David ran out of the morgue.

Langston returned and began piling towels, clothes, and coats over her. "We have to get her off this metal table. I'll be right back."

He disappeared through the doors and recklessly drove a gurney back in, almost hitting Robbins as he came to a stop. The two doctors moved her to it, pulled up the sidebars, and piled everything they had back on her.

"I'm going to lost and found to grab everything I can," Robbins told Langston. "Stay with her."

He nodded, watching the coroner leave. Langston leaned over her, staring into her eyes. He smiled as he laid his gloved hand on her hair and gently stroked it.

"I can imagine how frightening this must be, but I promise you're safe now. And the CSI that's assigned to your case, he won't stop until he finds who did this to you."

Silent tears answered his promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Compared to the chaos of the Emergency Room he'd just left, Nick found the route leading to Desert Palms' CDC ICU blissfully calm. It gave him time to consider this case. Driving back to the lab, Langston called him with the news: Red Dress Jane Doe # 7 was alive, barely.

After Langston described her condition when the paramedics took her away, Nick was caught between relief for a potential break in the case, and fear she wouldn't survive to tell him who he needed to have arrested.

Nick turned into the CDC ICU. It was a new hospital wing. Construction of it had begun shortly after the swine flu pandemic was declared in 2009. It was meant to handle the worst cases of communicable diseases and give the doctors and nurses direct connections to CDC and WHO. Nick knew why his Red Dress Jane Doe had been transferred here. Like the other Red Dress Jane Does, she was infected with scabies, a mite that could be transferred human to human with one touch. Ecklie wouldn't even let Nick touch the bodies of the deceased victims until Langston and the coroners had treated them and killed any remain mites left behind.

Nick stopped at the windowed wall of room four and rapped his knuckles on the glass. Two nurses and Doctor, all wearing Hazmat suits, looked up. Ian motioned him to wait. It was thirty minutes before Ian went into the airlock, and another thirty minutes before he came out.

"Nick," Ian said with a tone.

Nick had been working with Ian for years and knew that tone. Today, Ian was not the man Nick called friend. Today he was the doctor who was going to protect his patient from everyone – including Nick.

"I have to interview her, Ian. She's the first victim that's survived the Red Dress killer."

"I know that, Nick, but you can't."

"Ian, I—"

"She has a fungus growing under her esophagus. She can't speak."

Nick hadn't seen that coming and the thought of it made him wince in empathy. "A fungus? How did she get a fungus on her esophagus?"

"It's something that can happen to starvation victims. Her body couldn't fight off a lot of things at the end and a fungus began to grow. It's excruciating for her to speak."

"What about writing answers?"

He shook his head. "Can't do that either. She's suffering atrophy. She can flinch a finger and open her eyes, barely swallow, but that's it. She is just too weak."

"Where's her dress?"

"I had to send it to decontamination before I could send it to your lab."

"Ian, I need that dress before it's decontaminated!"

"I know this is a serial killer, but I wasn't going to risk an epidemic for your case."

Nick frowned. "Ian, you're not helping."

Ian smiled. "Sure I am. I sent a blood draw to your lab and had a nurse collect a SA kit."

That made Nick smile. "We've been working together way too long, Ian."

"Yes, we have, and I still like you. There's progress there, I think."

Nick laughed. "Can I take fingerprints and photograph injuries?"

"Yes. But be gentle. Another thing about starvation is a person becomes very sensitive to touch."

"She's my only surviving witness, Ian. I'm going to treat her like a queen."

"I taught you well. Come on."

Nick laughed again, following Ian into the airlock.

#

Nick lumbered into the room wearing a Hazmat suit. He carried a camera and electronic finger print pad. Nick looked down at the print pad and frowned.

"Ian, there's no wireless signal in here."

Ian chuckled and told him, "If it's not a life threatening problem, Nick, it's not my problem. Hope it stores prints."

Nick stopped and turned to the glass wall. Ian was standing at the nurse's station filling out paperwork. He wore a headset so he could hear and communicate with Nick and the nurse in the room. The nurses around him were trying not to laugh. He looked up and smiled at Nick.

"I don't s'pose you could muster up a shred of professionalism?"

Ian pretended to think and then smiled at him. "For you Nick, because you're my friend and all – No. Be good to my patient." Ian waved and walked off.

"Doctors are evil." Nick turned around, waking

Ian laughed through the speaker in Nick's helmet, but it made Nick smile. Nick walked along the bed until he could see the face of Red Dress Jane Doe #7. The woman was awake, watching the nurse. She turned her head to meet Nick's eyes. Despite her condition and her fight for life, she looked alert and aware. Did she really know what was happening to her?

"Hi, ma'am. I'm Nick Stokes. I'm from the crime lab. I need to take your fingerprints and photograph your injuries. I'm told you can move a finger. If it's okay that I do that, will you move a finger for me?"

He looked down at her hand. She barely moved her index finger.

"Do it again if that was a yes."

She did it again. He looked back at her face and smiled. "Thank you. Just relax while I do this."

Nick sat his camera down on a chair and started to work on the fingerprints.

#

Catherine walked into the smallest layout room in the lab. This lab always felt like a closet to her. There was just enough room for a small light table and it had no windows. Nick was one of nine people who had a key to the door and he'd claimed the room for the Red Dress killings. The only thing he put away were the necklaces and dresses, but he left his files and photographs where they were when he finally decided he wasn't going anywhere with the most recent case. On slow nights, however, Catherine always knew where to find him. With the discovery of Natalie, he practically lived here, staying on his off hours to continue working the case.

She stood beside to him and for several minutes the two stared together at the photographs hung up on the wall light board. She looked at him, waiting for him to say something.

He didn't, so she spoke first. "Ray told me the latest victim is alive."

"Is that what he calls it?"

Catherine picked up the case file, reading through it. "She was starved, but they didn't find anything more than bread and water in her stomach. That's different from the other victims. Her tox screen found a significant amount of Phoneutria fera venom. What the heck is that?"

"A Brazilian Wandering Spider and they aren't native to Nevada or the U.S."

"Did they find an injection location?"

"Between the scabies rash, scurvy sores, abrasions, and lesions there is no way to tell if there was an injection site."

"What has she told you about the killer?"

"She won't have a voice for three to four months and she doesn't have the strength to hold her head up let alone hold a pen." Nick angrily shook his head. "I want to beat the shit out of this guy, Catherine. How can someone do this to people?"

"Maybe—" Catherine was cut off when the door opened and Wendy stuck her head in.

"I got a hit on your victim's prints. Her name is Natalie Emma Greer."

"She has a record?" Nick asked.

"Not exactly." Wendy pushed the door open and looked at her papers. "She was an expert consultant for the Missoula, Montana police department for six years. She moved to Las Vegas two weeks shy of a year ago."

Nick walked around the table, leaning in to read the papers. "She's an entomologist. If she was with the Missoula Police Department, why isn't there a photograph of her?"

"I called them about that. They just add fingerprints for consultants and contractors. Unless they commit a crime, that is. Then they book them and include a photograph."

"That happens often?" Catherine asked.

Wendy smiled. "I was told no."

"Do you have her current address?" Nick asked.

"I have something better." Wendy pulled a paper from the stack. "Her missing person report. She went missing two weeks after she came to Las Vegas. Sorry, but the photograph with it has gone M.I.A."

Nick took the papers. "Thanks Wendy."

She closed the door as she left.

"Catherine, do you want to go to this interview?"

"No. I have my own cases I have to work on. Can Natalie move her lips?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"You know… Grissom is in town for a few months. Why don't you have him consult on this case?"

Nick was offended. Catherine had chased a serial killer before. She knew these cases were difficult. Did she think he was incapable of doing his job? "What do you think he could do I couldn't?" Nick asked.

"Talk to her."

"How?"

"Think _outside_ the box, Nicky. _Think_." Catherine walked out.

Nick watched her leave, and then looked at the papers. He pulled his cell phone off his belt and called Grissom.

"Good morning, Nick," Grissom greeted him.

"Morning. Hey, do you want to consult on a case for me?"

"In what capacity?"

"I'm not really sure, actually. Catherine suggested that you could talk to my victim."

"Why can't you speak with your victim?"

"Well, she can't talk, and she can't write, and honestly, I don't know how you could help, but Catherine suggested it."

Grissom chuckled. "You're not thinking outside the box, are you?"

"Funny. She said that. What's outside of my box that I'm missing here?"

Grissom chuckled again. "What time will you come by to pick me up?"

"Twenty minutes? I'm going to interview her husband first if you want to tag along."

"Okay. I'll see you in twenty minutes."

#

In suburbia Las Vegas it was hard to believe that thirty minutes or less away was glitter and fool's gold. In this quiet neighborhood, there was the illusion nothing could go wrong. Kids played street hockey or biked – oblivious to the hard ghetto in the opposite direction of their white-collar streets.

Nick mused over that as he eased past a street hockey game.

"This is it," Grissom said.

Nick glanced at him and then house he was pointing at. He stopped at the curb and the two headed up the drive to the front door. Grissom tapped the doorbell and they waited.

"Catherine asked if your victim could move her lips?" Grissom asked.

"Uh-huh. Do you know why?"

"You need to think outside the box."

"You know what she was getting at, don't you?"

"Yes I do."

"So tell me."

Grissom smiled. He knew why Catherine told Nick to bring him on the case.

Nick started to press when the door opened.

A boy in his early teens stared at them. He was dressed a tank top and shorts that were stained with paint, bleach spots, and perhaps wood stain. Spider bites marked his arms and he held a tarantula on his head.

"That's a beautiful Chilean Rose," Grissom told the boy.

"Thanks. My mom's not here."

"Why'd you think we'd want to talk to your mom?" Nick asked.

"When we lived in Missoula the police came all the time to ask her about 'em." He pointed at Nick's gun on his hip. "You're police, aren't you?"

"Criminalists," Nick answered, "and we're here to speak with your father."

"Is that mommy?" a girl's voice asked.

The boy turned. A four-year-old girl stood in the hall hugging a stuffed purpled and blue spider.

"They're not mommy," she said, and then walked away. "I'd better keep working on her picture."

The boy looked up at the two.

"Is that your sister?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. She thinks mom's coming home." He lowered his voice and eyes. "But she's not."

"How do you know she's not?" Grissom asked.

"Tristan, who are you talking to?" someone asked.

A man came around a corner into the hall wiping off a knife that had yellow goo on it.

"They're criminalists, dad. They want to talk to you."

"I'm Nick Stokes. I'm with the Crime Lab. Are you Joseph Greer?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a few moments?"

Joseph walked up to the door, handing the towel and knife to Tristan. "Feed the rest of the tarantulas and get your sister to help. But stay away from Olivia and Horton. They've been in bad moods all week."

"Kylie, feeding time!" Tristan said as he walked back down the hall.

From a doorway Kylie raced past him and around the corner the man had come. Joseph stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. When he turned to face them he was crying.

"You found her body, didn't you? My wife is dead, isn't she?"

"Why do you think that?"

"My wife worked with the police in Missoula. I'd gone with her to tell families their loved one was found dead somewhere. I know what it looks like. Where was she found?"

"We can't discuss the case yet," Nick told him, "but we do have questions."

Joseph leaned against the doorframe, sighing. "What questions?"

"The night she went to the movie premiere, did you and Natalie get into an argument? Maybe you wanted to go or didn't want her to go?"

"No. I didn't care if she went and I sure as hell didn't want to go."

"Why didn't you want to go?"

"I can't stand the actor in that movie. He's an asshole."

"Did Natalie and Dana have an argument?"

He shook his head. "No. Nat won the tickets at work and they were looking forward to a girls night out."

"The report mentions Natalie won a pass to the backstage party of the premiere."

"Yeah. They drew people's seat numbers and she won with five others to a backstage party." Joseph looked out into the street. "She called to tell me about it but I'd already gone to bed. I still have the voicemail."

"Was Dana okay with Natalie getting backstage?"

Joseph looked at Nick. "If you mean do I think Dana would have hurt her best friend since grade school? No. Besides, Dana's dead."

"How'd she die?"

"Car accident. It killed her entire family."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Joseph nodded. "So was I."

"Why did you wait for a day to report your wife missing?"

"I didn't think she was missing until I called Dana the next afternoon. She told me that the last time she saw Natalie, she was heading backstage and told Dana she'd catch a cab so she wouldn't have to wait for her."

"But if you cared so much, wh—"

"Stop." Joseph didn't raise his voice. He didn't bark the command. But it was the last thing Nick expected to hear, and he felt compelled to obey.

"Look, Natalie and I had a good marriage," Joseph began. "We fought, yeah, but every couple fights. That's not the sign of malice, that's normal. If Natalie was a party girl, I could see why you'd ask questions like this. She didn't normally even go out, she had issues with her appearance. The craziest thing my wife has done since we were married is go to Brazil to study Brazilian Wandering Spiders. That night, the last night I saw the woman I love, she was happy and content. We even slipped in some afternoon delight before the kids got home that day, that's how good our marriage was. Nat always let me go out with my friends, never said a word, so I was more than willing to let her have some fun. Now, since Natalie's graduated with her doctorate, I've had to deal with law enforcement for most of our married life. So you can see why I don't appreciate you accusing me of hurting my wife of twenty-three years that I adore. I'm willing to cooperate as long as you are willing to follow the correct leads. Mister Stokes, so far, you aren't doing a very good job of that. So you either need to move to another line of question, or you need to leave and come back when you're ready to ask better questions."

Nick felt a little helpless. It's funny the times when Nick found himself wishing the hallucination of Warrick would appear to back him up. He was wishing that now. He glanced at Grissom. Was he judging Nick for losing control of the conversation like this? Nick drew in a breath, let it out, and decided to try a different angle. The first being, he wasn't even going to acknowledge Joseph had just smacked him down. The second was the good point Joseph did bring up – Natalie's background in law enforcement.

"When she consulted for the Missoula police, did she help get convictions for a lot of people?"

Joseph nodded.

"Did any of them ever threaten to hurt her?"

"She put them in jail, Mister Stokes. How many have threatened to hurt you because you put them in jail? Doesn't it kind of go with the territory?"

Nick smiled, nodding. "I guess so." Nick pulled out a paper from his back pocket and unfolded it to reveal a composite drawing. He held it up before Joseph. "There wasn't a photograph with the missing person's report. Is this your wife?"

Joseph shook his head without hesitation.

Nick cocked his head a little. "It's not?"

"No. I don't recognize that woman." He handed it back.

"Do you have a recent photograph of your wife?"

"Yes."

"May I see it?"

"Why?"

"Please, sir, may I see a photograph of your wife?"

"Wait here."

Joseph went back inside.

"Maybe I have the wrong person," Nick thought out loud.

"As emaciated as these women are, Nick, it would be difficult for anyone to recognize them. Let's see if the images compare in any way before we get too far ahead."

They dropped their conversation as Joseph came back out and handed Nick a photograph. Right away Nick saw the problem. Joseph's Natalie was two to three hundred pounds heavier than the woman in the composite.

"May I borrow this?" Nick asked.

"Why?"

"The photograph with the missing persons report you filed is missing. If Natalie does turn up, I'd like to hold on to this. May I?"

Joseph nodded.

"Thank you for your time."

Nick and Grissom went back to the Denali. Nick drove them away but the drive started off silent. Nick was still trying to figure out how he'd let the conversation get away from him like it had.

"It's okay, you know," Grissom said.

Nick glanced at him. "Pardon?"

Grissom smiled. "I noticed your uncertain after Joseph vented his frustration. It's okay to be uncertain. He could still be responsible for her disappearance, but I think you handled it well. You kept the conversation moving forward regardless."

Nick didn't comment.

"I see it, you know."

"See what?" Nick quietly asked. He didn't want to know, but he knew Grissom. He would to tell Nick whether he asked or not.

"You've lost some confidence. You'll get it back. It just takes time."

"Don't be so certain."

"Nick."

He stopped at a stop sign and looked then looked at Grissom.

"I know you relied on the hallucination to confirm you were doing the right thing. You can't do that anymore. When you're in doubt, ask us. Start thinking about that from now on."

Nick looked down.

"And also start thinking about the box."

Nick smiled and laughed. He started driving again.

"Just tell me, Grissom. What is Catherine talking about? You know. Just tell me."

Grissom smiled. "It will be more satisfying when you find the answer on your own."

"You are one cruel, cruel man, Gil Grissom."

The rest of the drive Nick continued working on the riddle, trying to find the answer Grissom and Catherine were enticing him to find.

Four blocks from the hospital it hit him. "Oh my God! It's been right there this whole damned time! You can read lips! She can move her lips. You can talk to Natalie."

Grissom laughed. "Give our boy Nicky a little time and incentive, and he can solve most anything."

Nick beamed with pride.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As he walked into the room, the thought crossed Nick's mind that Natalie looked like a breathing mummy. Her ashen skin had taken just a hint of color, but the Malathion cream spread over her body hid even that. It was a precaution for another seven days until Ian could confirm there wasn't a scabies left on her body.

The first three days after she arrived, Nick was called almost hourly – she was giong to die, she was going to live, she had a heart palpatations, the palpatations receded. Into the second day Nick had determined that Death may be on Natalie's doorstep, trying to the open the door, but she was determined to keep him out. By day six she stabalized and Ian moved her into a regular ICU room, and the calls to Nick were routine updates.

This afternoon she was propped on her side to help prevent bedsores. They formed rapidly on her skeletal body as it fought valiantly against invisible bacteria and pathogens hell bent on destroying it. Grissom walk around to her other side where he'd be able to see her face.

Nick laid a light hand on her shoulder, and gave it a couple gentle shakes. He called out, "Natalie."

She opened her eyes, but it was Grissom that she saw first. Nick leaned over, watching her look up to focus on him. He smiled, laying his hand on her hair.

"Hey there, girl. Glad to see you've stuck around for another day."

She didn't respond because she couldn't.

"This is Doctor Gil Grissom." Nick motioned to Grissom as he continued. "He's consulting on your case because among his many talents, he reads lips. So I was hoping we could talk to about what happened to you today. Do you feel up to it?"

Natalie looked back to Grissom and he translated while she mouthed, "He's pretty smart, isn't he? Let's keep him."

Nick and Grissom both chuckled. Was Grissom as surprised as he was she was joking? Natalie was a trove of surprises.

With a smile, Grissom told her. "We'll keep him for now."

Nick sat down on the edge of her bed. He slid his hand under hers. He felt her fingers flex, trying to wrap around his hand. It made him smile. She may be a long way from physical healing, but mentally, she was healing much quicker.

"Can you tell me about the night you were kidnapped?" Nick asked.

She mouthed as Grissom translated, "I don't remember much anymore. Everything is... Just pieces."

"Just tell me what you do remember. Let's start there."

"I remember the premiere and Dana laughing. Then I was at a party. I met some famous people, but I can't see faces. Then a limousine, the driver spoke Spanish. I woke up in a cell with five other women. We called the kidnapper John, but I don't know why. He gave us water in dog bowls and sometimes he'd rape us. He kept saying if we did a good job we would get bread. He rarely gave any of us bread. When a woman was going to disappear, he'd give her bread and potatoes for a while. Then he'd come in, put her in a red dress and pearls, and they'd leave. The woman never came back."

"Did he bring in a new woman when he took one out?"

"Yes."

"Could you describe him to an artist?"

"No. His face is black." Grissom asked her, "He was African-American?" and then he translated, "No. Every time I think about him or try to see his face, it's just empty and black."

Nick got up and walked to the door. He was frustrated with this guy. Even with a live victim the serial killer was able to hide his identity in her fear.

Grissom watched Nick a minute before looking back at Natalie.

"I'm sorry," Grissom translated. "I'm sorry I can't remember." Natalie started to cry.

"Nicky," Grissom called.

He turned. He quickly came back to the bed and took her hand.

"Shhh," Nick told her. "This isn't your fault."

"I want to help you," Grissom translated.

"And you're doing a good job at that. It's okay, Natalie."

"You know, Natalie," Grissom told her, "When people suffer traumatic events, it's normal for them to suffer amnesia. That's how the human brain copes with what it can't process. Nick and I both understand that. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She started to lift a shaky hand to wipe tears away. Grissom quickly grabbed a tissue and did it for her.

"What about evidence?" she asked. "Didn't you get any evidence?" She looked back at Nick.

He shook his head. "The rain destroyed it."

"I remember the last time I was there. I remember that."

"Tell us about it," Nick urged.

"He started giving me bread and potatoes. I didn't want to eat it, but I was so hungry. Then he came in, took off my dress, and put on the red dress and pearls. I knew he was going to kill me. He kept telling me I was very pretty this skinny and I should be happy. He made me get up and walk. It felt like I was walking on needles and my knees kept trying to buckle. Outside the room was another room like a dining room. There was a wall that had all these exotic pets. He sat me down at the table and told me I'd done a good job, so we were going to have a feast."

"Done a good job? What did he mean?"

"I don't know."

"What happened next?"

"I was staring at the spiders because there was something familiar about them. I felt like I knew something about them, and I wanted so bad to remember something from my past. He noticed me staring and started telling me about them. Up a staircase I heard someone knock on a door. He told me he was going to get our food and to wait. I remembered one of the spiders then. I remembered I spent a long time in a jungle somewhere studying it. I walked over to it's terrarium and pulled off the top and put my hand in the cage. I kept waving my hand at it, trying to get it to bite me. It did."

"Why did you want it to bite you?" Nick asked.

"If it bit me enough times the venom might paralyze me and I'd look dead to him. I had a fifty, fifty chance he'd dump my body where someone would find me and help me. I heard plates break and he was pulling me away, but the spider bite was already working. Then I woke up in the morgue."

"We're sorry about that, Natalie," Nick told her. "The venom—"

Nick stopped when she began mouthing, "I'm not angry. The venom was still working, they couldn't have known."

"You've done an excellent job, Natalie. Thank you. I'm going to let you get some sleep, but I'll check in on you in the morning." Nick gave her hand a squeeze as he stood.

He turned away while she started mouthing, and got to the door before he noticed Grissom wasn't following. He turned back, watching Grissom watch her. Grissom reached out and laid his hand on her head, stopping her.

"We can't do that, Natalie," Grissom told her. "For right now your husband has to think you're dead. If this John finds out you aren't, he might come back and kill you. We don't want that."

If Grissom's hand hadn't been on her head, Nick never would have noticed the slight nod. Grissom smiled.

"You are a very strong woman, Natalie. Get some rest."

Grissom patted her hand and then followed Nick out of the room. They were silent all the way to the elevator. Nick tapped the call button.

"What are you thinking?" Grissom asked.

Nick looked at him. "Maybe the guy should know she's not dead. Maybe we could set up a trap."

Grissom shook his head. "Don't use her as bait to find this guy. Follow the evidence, Nicky. You'll catch him."

"The evidence I need is locked in Natalie's brain."

"I have a suspicion it won't be forever."

"Why not?"

The elevator opened and they stepped on. "She wants to save the other women. She won't stop working on this, mentally, until that happens." Grissom looked at Nick. "She's much stronger than she looks."

Nick smiled, commenting as the doors closed, "The only woman I know that's as strong as Natalie, I call Mom."

Grissom smiled too.

#

At Nick's elbow was a portable DVD player that was playing 'Sweetheart Diaries.' He thought the movie was terrible but then he didn't have an appreciation for chick flicks.

Scattered on the layout table were the case files. Clipped or taped on the light board were more photographs of the crime scene.

Hanging from the fire sprinkler, and against the firm Fire Marshal warning on the sprinkler, were ten red dresses with pearl necklaces. He stared at the sets because of all the evidence he did have, they were what bothered him the most.

Mandy had confirmed that the dresses were made from real silk most likely imported from Japan. The silk was raw and hand dyed. There was enough genetic code left that Hodges could determine the same silkworm group was used for the silk, but he couldn't narrow down a region. With each dress he also made a point to remind Nick that these dresses would have cost the killer two to three thousand dollars each. They were all a size zero, an easy size to fit on a woman who was barely skin and all bones. But nothing in the style or fabric pointed to a designer or manufacturer.

The necklaces were pure silver and Mother of Pearl. They had no identifying marks to tie them to a jeweler, but they were each appraised $800 to $1200. The pearls had very similar mineral makeup and striations, indicating they came from the same oysters in the same place of the ocean or perhaps a pearl farm. But that was all they would tell the CSI.

What stumped Nick was why this man invested so much money in these women he ultimately killed. Did it mean the killer was wealthy? Or did it mean he was a thief who stole the items?

Nick looked at the door when it opened, watching Catherine walk in with a notepad and a stack of printouts. She was wearing her reading glasses. Nick smiled, remembering how Warrick always commented that they made her look sexy. What he wouldn't give for even dead Warrick's opinion right now.

Catherine sat down on the stool next to Nick, setting the stack of papers in front of him. She flipped to a page in her notepad before she began talking.

"I contacted the Missoula police department, and I hadn't really expected to reach anyone at this hour but the police chief was in the office – he was hiding from his wife, he said. Anyway, I asked if he could send us copies of any case Natalie helped get a conviction on, and where any of the suspect's had the name John. He said—"

"Am I in trouble?"

Catherine looked over the top of her glasses. "Not that I know of. Should you be?"

"Why are you working my case?"

"I wanted to help, and since I'm _your_ supervisor, I took unilateral action. Don't worry. You're still lead."

"Just as long as I'm not in trouble. So the Missoula police chief hiding from his wife said…"

"He said she wasn't really the kind of person most citizens would remember and her real magic happened in the lab. But he does remember something about a stalker. He said he'd get the detective on that case to round up his case files and send us copies."

"I hope I find something in them. I've got nothing but dead ends. Again."

"Any luck on anyone purchasing a Brazilian Wandering Spider?"

"The only two in the last seven years have been Natalie and a professor at the university. The professor checks out, no priors, and he and his spider have been in Argentina for the last eight months. And his name is Carl. Maybe the killer bought it on the black market."

"She said there were other exotic pets. Did you check that?"

"That's half of Las Vegas – at least the half that's actually licensed their pets."

"That's a lot of people. Doc Ian called before I came in. He said Saint Mercy sent out a CDC report about a man who died from an allergic reaction to Phoneutria fera venom."

"Tonight?"

"Mm-hm. Since I'm pretty sure this spider wouldn't have survived in the desert, that means he had to have been bit where she was being held."

That was the best news he'd heard in months. Nick stood up, reaching for his vest. "I gotta get over there."

"He's dead."

Nick turned, staring at her.

"Died in the E.R. from the venom. He had no I.D. and was wearing a pair of jeans, nothing else. No one knows who dropped him off, either. He was found in the waiting room, unconscious."

Nick sat back down. "Would you authorize me reposting the sketches of the other women?"

"We already ran them. We got nothing."

"I know. But I think they need more weight added to them."

Catherine looked down at the case file. She picked up the photograph Joseph had given them of Natalie.

"You think this guy is targeting obese women, don't you?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Had a friend of mine, a hefty girl, once tell me that one thing obesity does is make you feel safe. How many times have you heard someone killing or raping an obese woman on the news?"

Nick didn't smile. But neither did Catherine.

"I'll approve it." Catherine sat the photograph down, looking at him. "As horrible as it sounds, Natalie was not a small woman." Catherine motioned at Natalie's photograph. "We can judge that it took the killer eleven months and sixteen days to starve here to a size zero. Have you backtracked missing persons on the other women?

"I'm working on it."

"But you know… Even with her fat stores, Natalie wouldn't have lived more than a month. That would throw your theory of targeting obese women off."

"It doesn't. The answer to that question is in their stomach content. My girls didn't die from starvation."

She picked up a file and flipped to the page listing the stomach content. She looked over her glasses at Nick. "These women all died with food far more expensive than I've ever eaten."

"It's the food that's killing them."

"It says they died from heart failure, likely due to shock."

"Yep. It's the food."

Catherine looked over the papers. "I've seen these tox screens on these women hundreds of times, Nick. Nothing in the tox screens indicate a poison, save Natalie. But she admits she willing let the spider bite her."

Nick smiling, gleeful. "It is the food, Catherine. The food is killing them."

"Okay. You're enjoying this too much. Bring me up to speed here, Nicky."

From under papers and photographs, Nick fished out a thick, heavy book. He flipped through the pages to a bookmark. Nick didn't see Catherine's impressed, pleased smile.

"At the end of World War II," Nick began, "There were a large number deaths in German prison camps when the Allied troops gave starved prisoners their K-rations and candy bars. The prisoner's systems, which had acclimated to their sparse diet of potatoes, bread, and broth, were incapable of handling the rich proteins and carbohydrates. Consuming the rations and chocolate caused stomach cramps, convulsions, and death due to shock." Nick looked up to add more, but stopped when he saw Catherine's smile. "What?"

"You're reading a book?"

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"Go on."

"What's wrong with me reading a book?"

"Nothing. Continue."

Nick shot her a frown. He sat that book aside and pulled out two more very old books. "These are copies of The Biology of Human Starvation. Didn't think I'd find a copy until Doc Robbins piped up that he had copies. Anyway, it's the results from an experiment known as the Minnesota Starvation Experiment. During World War II, the U.S. government conducted a test on starvation, to see how long it took men to reach a dangerous weight loss and how long it would take to bring them back to a healthy weight. They found a few glitches in the rehabilitation when participants took in foods too rich in protein and carbohydrate. But the war had ended before the experiment completed; by that time Allied troops had inadvertently killed thousands of starved people. I think that's what this guy is doing to these women, Catherine."

"Starving them to death and killing them by feeding them really good food?"

"Exactly. I think this guy knows that these meals will kill the women or the guy thinks he's being nice and doesn't know what he's doing."

"You forgot the third option."

"What's that?"

"Perhaps he started off thinking he was helping, but then he got a taste of murder and now he's intentionally murdering them. This is good work, Nick. I'm going to go see if that autopsy on the John Doe gives us anything new." Catherine got up. "Start working the exotic pet owners named John."

Nick nodded. Catherine left and Nick made a phone call. "Hey, Archie, I need you to pull up those composites for my Red Dress girls. Add about two hundred pounds to each and then send them back out. Thanks." Nick hung up and turned to his laptop to start working on addresses.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A crowd was gathered around a roped off poker table, drawn by who was playing at it: two poker pros, a millionaire, and three actors – one who was America's sweetheart Jonathan Massie.

The casino manager and Nick pushed through the crowd toward Jonathan's manager, Gabriel Gaveston.

"Mister Gaveston, this is Nick Stokes of the Las Vegas Crime Lab," the casino manager introduced. "He needs to speak to you."

Gabriel turned to them.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I need speak with Jonathan Massie," Nick told him.

At the table Jonathan sighed. "I raise." He pushed the last of his chips into the center.

The game continued.

"About what?" Gabriel asked.

"The disappearance of a woman. She was last seen at a premiere party he attended a while back. I also needs to ask him about his pets."

"His pets?"

The players revealed their hands. Jonathan had lost. He smiled.

"That was a good game," he said as he stood and picked his jacket off the back of the chair. He walked toward Nick and Gabriel, pausing to sign autographs.

"He's busy," Gabriel told Nick.

"This shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Jonathan stopped beside Gabriel. "Only police come in here with a gun. Is something wrong?"

"This is Nick Stokes, he's from the crime lab, but Jonathan, you shouldn't talk to him without your lawyer."

"I have some questions about a woman who disappeared from a premiere party for Sweetheart Diaries," Nick told Jonathan.

"Jonathan," someone said behind him.

The man turned. A group of teenage girls stood behind him. Three were slim and dressed in skimpy mid-riff tank tops and skirts that barely covered them. The fourth was a stocky teenager wearing a full-length tank top and Capri's. The girls held pens and autograph books, but the stocky one wasn't as pressing as the other girls. Jonathan reached for her book and pen first, and when she looked up he held her gaze with a smile. He signed the book and when he handed it back. He quickly signed the others.

Nick's eyes drifted to Jonathan's hands and his keen eye noticed strange, flaking scabs on his hands. His mind nagged him. Where had he seen scabs like that before? Jonathan turned back to Nick.

"I was asked questions about that months ago."

"I have a couple more," Nick told him, "Is there anywhere we can talk that's a little more private?"

"Jon, I strongly advise you to have Lehman here if you want to talk to him," Gabriel pressed.

"I can end this conversation any time I want. Right?" Jonathan looked Nick in the eye with a smile.

The remark was so challenging. Nick felt suspicion starting to creep in "Right," Nick answered.

"Let's take advantage of the V.I.P. lounge," Jonathan said, motioning in the direction of the room.

Nick let Jonathan start walking ahead of him. People kept stopping Jonathan to ask for autographs and the stops gave Nick's mind time to piece together what was so pressing about Jonathan's scabs.

It came to him in flash memory of holding Natalie's hand. He remembered the flakey scabs across her skin that showed where scabie mites had burrowed. Scabs that were just like the ones across the hands and arms of Emmy winner, sweetheart of America, and global humanitarian, Jonathan Massie.

The revelation made Nick watch Jonathan's every move for any and every tell.

The crowd around them was a mixture of people, but it was when Jonathan came to overly obese woman that Nick's anger began to rise and his suspicion was confirmed. He read Jonathan's body language. The actor smiled, he asked personal questions, subtly flirting with her. Two twenty-somethings pushed past her and he watched her until the crowd swallowed up.

Nick clenched his jaw. He had no doubt he'd stumbled on the Red Dress Killer. Was it fate, or the man's arrogance that made this possible?

Gabriel pushed up against Nick, getting his attention. He calmly stared into the manager's glare of hatred.

In a hushed and threatening voice, Gabriel asked, "What are you staring at?"

"Just observing."

"Observing what?"

Nick stepped away. He was furious and a sniveling manager who probably knew exactly what Massie was doing, was not going to get in his way. "You need to step back a little, sir," Nick told him. "I'd hate to have you arrested for interfering with an investigation."

Gabriel's anger flushed his face, but he did stay back. Nick looked back at Jonathan. Another obese woman had caught his eye. She wanted a photograph with him. He handed her an autographed photo and held her close to him. He smiled and whispered something that made her blush. The picture was taken, the volunteer handed her camera back, but Massie didn't let go right away. The two spoke for a few minutes. He finally let her go, but his fingers brushed down her arm.

A slender woman moved in. She tried to get close for her picture, but Jonathan kept her at arm's length. When it was over, he quickly pulled away. They continued moving until finally they reached the lounge.

Jonathan seated himself at a table and Gabriel seated himself on Jonathan's right hand side. Nick sat across from them. A pert waitress came up and offered a flirtatious smile. Jonathan smiled back, but he didn't pay any more attention to the woman.

"Drinks?" she asked.

"I'll take a cola," Jonathan told her.

"Rum and coke," Gabriel said.

She turned to Nick. "You sir?"

"Nothing. Thanks."

She left.

"I noticed you have scabies," Nick pointed at Jonathan's hands.

"Yeah. I was on a shoot in England and apparently there was an outbreak in this little hamlet we were in. Been fighting them ever since."

"When was that?"

"Not long ago."

"How long ago?"

"I don't recall."

"You don't recall when you had a shoot in England? Must have been a really bad movie."

Jonathan's smile was one Nick knew. He was about to set a limit to the questions, even if he didn't actually say that.

"Perhaps now I need to call my lawyer."

Nick shrugged. "If you want to."

He and Jonathan stared at each other a moment. The waitress came back and sat down their drinks.

"Didn't you have some questions about the premiere party?"

Nick dug out the photograph of Natalie from his vest pocket and showed it to Jonathan. "Do you recognize her?"

Jonathan glanced at it. "No."

"Look again. Real hard."

Jonathan took the photograph, stared at it for a few minutes, and handed it back. "No."

Nick put it back in his pocket. "You purchased a vineyard in Moapa Valley what was it… six months ago?"

"Almost a year ago. Why?"

"Moapa is a nice place. Enjoying the peace and quiet out there?"

"I am."

He was keeping his answers short, even to conversational questions. He was onto Nick, wasn't he?

Nick told him a flat out lie. "I have a co-worker that thinks the world of you. She follows your life like some obsessed fan. I bet you get that a lot, don't you?"

"Sometimes. Are you an obsessed fan? Maybe using your badge to get close?"

"I'm more of an action flick fan. Give me a good Clint Eastwood character any day."

Jonathan nodded. "Yes, but the women enjoy the sensitive characters, and that's money."

"I suppose so. My co-worker told me you haven't really had a steady girlfriend, in, well… Never."

"She said that?"

"I think there's some wishful thinking involved."

"Really? Maybe you should introduce us."

"She's not bad looking. About five four, blond hair, real tight. Weighs in around a hundred twenty, hundred thirty. But don't let that fool you. She could kick your ass if you make her mad enough."

Jonathan's smile almost faded. "Not really my type."

"Yeah. I noticed that out there." A slight movement of his hand motioned back into the casino.

"What type do you think I like, Mister Stokes?"

"Robust and squeezable. Is that why you go through girlfriends so fast? To hide your real taste in women?"

"You're taking my kindness out of context. Most people don't even notice those women, or view them as blights on society. Men like you make them feel like outcasts. That's not to say they wouldn't benefit from losing weight. It's a strain on their bodies and their health."

"I guess that might be a reason someone would want by starve them. To maybe _help_ them lose that unhealthy weight."

"That sounds like some sort of an accusation, Mister Stokes," Gabriel snapped.

"I'm sorry. Was my hypothesis taken out of context? Or was it dead on, Mister Massie?"

Jonathan's smile vanished. Nick had crossed the line, but crossing it told him he'd hit the nail on the head.

"I've become uncomfortable with these questions. You can see yourself out."

Nick smiled as he stood. "Just one more question if you'll indulge me. It's about your pets."

"My pets?"

"Yeah. I noticed you've licensed a few exotic pets – a chimpanzee and a couple monitor lizards."

"I've had them for several years, and it was required while I lived here."

"Mind if I came out and see them?"

"Yes. I do. Good night, Mister Stokes."

Nick nodded once and turned his back on him. It hid his smile. Of the seventy-four John's he'd question, this one felt right in every way.

#

Catherine entered the A/V lab, carrying a folder. She walked up to Nick, reading over his shoulder. He was reading a real estate listing.

"Nicky, Judge Jameson said you woke her up trying getting a search warrant for John Massie's vineyard."

"Yeah. She refused to do it."

"Well, playing devil's advocate, it's two in the morning and you have next to nothing to go on."

He looked up and then at her. "Wait. How'd you find out I called her?"

"Guess who just chewed my ear for twenty minutes."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Catherine. I didn't meant to get you in the middle of it."

"It's my job to get in the middle of it. Nick, you're asking her to commit career suicide by issuing that warrant with no evidence. Something more tangible than some scabs on Jonathan Massie's skin and your hunch."

"Catherine, this guy did it."

"This _guy_, Nick, was named humanitarian of the year, has won seven Oscars, and most women I know would drop anything to date him."

"He did it Catherine."

"You keeps saying that, but you have yet to prove it. Do you want to end your career because of this case?"

He stared at her. "You're going to fire me?"

"No! But you're trying to arrest this guy on a hunch, Nick. And while that hunch may be right, do you realize Jonathan Massie could destroy you? You do not have any evidence to pin these murders on him. What he does have over you is money and friends in all the right places. All you have backing you are friends with almost no money, an under funded police department, and a mayor who would throw you under the bus to save his own skin."

Nick didn't comment. He was offended that she was doubting him and questioning his actions.

"Next time you want a warrant on this case, you go through me. Okay?"

"You never used to doubt me before, Catherine."

"I am not doubting you. I'm trying to protect you. There's a huge difference."

"I know I've done some questionable things over the last year, but I know this guy is—"

"Damnit Nicholas!" Catherine grabbed a chair and sent it rolling over, hitting his leg. She sat down, looking him in the eye. "You have changed in so many ways, Nick, and while most are minor or unimportant, some aren't. And some cannot be overlooked. You've always been the emotional one on this team. Always. But these days, it sometimes blinds you. You go from being a great CSI to a rookie CSI in the blink of an eye. Right now, you're behaving like a God damned rookie and it's pissing me off!"

Nick stared at her for a long time before he looked away. She was not the first to call him on this. Sara, Greg, even Langston, had told him he was being overly emotional and derailing from the case on a few occasions. It hit closer to home coming from Catherine.

Quietly he told her, "I know he did this to my girls, Catherine. I need him to pay for hurting them."

She reached out, rubbing his shoulder. She leaned forward until he finally looked at her and smiled.

"There you go. Looking after your girls again. They're so lucky to have you."

That won her a smile.

"If you want to help your girls, you need to slow down and find proof Jonathan Massie is a serial killer. I know it's out there somewhere, and I know you can find it. Promise me you'll slow down? Start adding some deductive reasoning to the mix before you charge full ahead?"

Nick nodded. "I promise."

"What are you working on now?"

"So what are you looking at now?"

"Since I can't get on Massie's current property, I'm trying to get onto his past properties. I'm just trying to track them all down."

"You think he's been at this a while, don't you?"

"Starving someone to near death, but not killing them, would take trial and error. Yes. I think he's been doing this for a long while. God only knows how long."

She picked up some of the papers. "He sure moves around a lot."

Nick nodded. "But he stayed the longest her in Texas."

She handed him the folder. "Here's some more fuel to your fire. Just don't go crazy with it." Nick took it and started thumbing through it. He stopped and looked at the precinct seal on the front.

"This is from Missoula, Montana. How'd you get this so fast?"

She leaned toward him. "Apparently Natalie is friends with the governor of Montana's wife. She personally delivered the files before you got in and I met her at the airport. She said to pass along that if you need anything at all, call her."

"Wow." He read through the file. "Natalie filed a restraining order against Jonathan Massie and he was charged with stalking."

"Did you get to the part where he broke it twice?"

Nick read more. "And according to my timeline, he was in jail for breaking the restraining order a second time when she moved. He got out and moved to Moapa Valley. He followed her!"

"So it would seem."

Nick flipped through the real estate papers. "Two weeks after he moved to the vineyard we found the first victim." Nick looked up. "Why would Natalie go to the premiere if she had a restraining order against him? She had to have known he'd be there. And she doesn't strike me as a careless person."

"There are newspaper clippings in that file that mention he apologized on two talk shows to her. I found the clips of the appearances on YouTube. She probably thought he was being sincere."

Nick nodded. "I just don't get why he was so obsessed with her. Or is this normal behavior that was made public because of who Natalie worked for?"

"I don't know. But if you find evidence of anything on his past properties that link to your cases, and present this to Judge Jameson. There was a few things she said that makes me thinks she's on your side, but she needs something concrete before she goes out on a limb for you."

Nick smiled at Catherine. "Why's it seem women get more on my side when they're yelling?"

"I don't yell. Often."

He laughed.

Greg stopped at the door and they both stared. He had a sequined dress slung over his shoulder and was balancing a huge headdress on his head.

"That better not have evidence inside it, Greg," Catherine warned him.

"Uh-uh. Not even evidence. Nick, you have visitors up front. They've been calling you for fifteen minutes."

"Who is it?"

"I didn't stop to ask. It's a zoo up there." Greg walked off.

"Do you want help going through the properties?"

"Yes. Thanks. I'll be right back."

Nick left her with his work and headed toward reception. He came in and stared at the zoo. Dozens of people were talking to the officer at the reception desk, who was doing his best to calm them down. He spotted Nick and pointed at him.

"This is CSI Nick Stokes. He's the one that sent out the composites; he's the one you need to talk to."

The room went silent. All eyes turned to him. The moment gave Nick a new appreciation of what a rabbit must feel moments before a pack of wolves pounced on it.

The voices started up again and the people swarmed around him. Most were speaking in English, two were talking in Spanish, one might have been speaking in Dutch – Nick couldn't tell. All of them were waving photographs and newspaper clippings at him. It was all white noise to Nick. He reached out and snatched a photograph and clipping from a man.

The composites he'd re-circulated with the added weight was nearly identical to the photograph the man had been holding. Nick's heart felt like it was shattering. His girls. His poor, poor girls. Why did his theory about their deaths have to be right?

#

Catherine watched Nick lead an elderly couple into an interview room. She lost track of how many times the phone had rung when she came around the corner and saw the line of people waiting outside the room. She didn't hear it the few minutes it took for Nick to explain he'd come and get them one at a time, and as quickly as possible. Then he and the first couple went into the room.

"Brooksdale Police Department," a woman said with a very slight Southern accent. "What is your emergency?"

Catherine jerked her attention away by turning her back on the people.

"This isn't an emergency. I thought I was calling the office line. My name is Catherine Willows. I'm with the crimelab in Las Vegas."

"I see. You do know you're calling South Carolina and it's four in the morning, ma'am?"

"I know. I'm working a homicide case. I need to talk to someone about searching a property in your area and as quickly as possible. Before our suspect has a chance to flee."

There was a pause. "I have to wake some people up. Let me put you on hold a few minutes."

"Thank you."

Hold music came on. Catherine turned, looking back at the scene. If John Massie was responsible for this, for ruining these people's life, she prayed that she and Nick would find enough nails to get an excecution.

#

On a property near Brooksdale, South Carolina, police officers, four coroners, and two morticians had been exhuming graves all morning. But so far all they found were the starved, decaying corpses of two-dozen dogs. But the sick twist was that most of them wore expensive gold or silver collars, studded with gems, and personalized tags.

#

Nick sat down as Mr. and Mrs. Price sat in chairs on the other side of the table. They were a hefty couple, just like their daughter had been.

"Can I get you anything?" Nick offered.

They solemnly shook their heads. He motioned at the digital tape recorder he had sitting on the table.

"Do you mind if I tape this conversation?"

Another head shake from both. Nick pushed record and sat it aside. He'd rushed Wendy off to gather his case files on the women and dug one out. He flipped it open, then held his hand out.

"May I see her photograph?"

Mrs. Price handed it over. Nick took it, staring at the smiling face of a woman with flushed, round cheeks. She was waving away the cameraman. She looked happy. Nick sat it down next to the composite in the case file and looked up.

"What is your daughter's name?" Nick asked.

"Melissa."

Nick nodded. Red Dress Jane Doe #1 now had a real name.

"Tell me about the day Melissa disappeared."

"It was a year ago," Mr. Price answered.

His wife continued. "She always came over for dinner on Friday nights. She stopped by that night and said she'd won tickets to a benefit dinner at the convention center."

"Did she seem okay? Was she acting normal? Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"No. She was excited. Her favorite actor was going to be there."

Nick hesitated. The couple didn't seem to notice.

"Her favorite actor?"

"Yes. Jonathan Massie. She's been a fan of his since she was a teenager." Mrs. Price smiled. "She was hoping to meet him that night."

Nick didn't return the smile. He turned a notepad to them with a pen on it. "Can you give me a description of her car? If it was left at the convention center, we may still have in impound. I'd like to see if there's any evidence in it."

Mr. Price wrote the information down. He looked Nick in the eye. "Who would have wanted to kill our little girl? She never hurt anyone. Why would someone do this to her?"

Nick took the pad and paper away. "I don't know," he lied.

#

Fifteen miles west of Lexington, Kentucky on a horse farm, policemen, coroners, CSI, and two backhoe operators dug up graves in the back pasture. Lying on tarps nearby were a dozen dogs, each wearing a gold or silver collar studded with gems. Beside them are nine emaciated chimpanzee corpses. They'd decayed to the point it was hard to tell if they were starved or not.

"We have results from the dogs and two chimps taken back to the lab," a CSI said as she walked up to an officer. She handed him her smartphone that displayed the results.

He frowned. "All died from cardiac arrested and were malnutritioned – likely from starvation." He looked up and shook his head. "This is sick. Fucking sick!"

She took her phone with a nod.

He lifted the mic on his shoulder. "Officer 1041 to dispatch."

"Go ahead," Dispatch answered.

"Patch me through to that CSI in Nevada."

"Stand by."

He dropped the mic, staring at the corpses. "Just fucking sick," he added quietly.

The CSI nodded again.

#

Heidi Vasquez and Tom Joaquin sat with Nick in chairs in the hall. They were the last people to tell him the story of their lost loved one.

"Do you mind if I record this conversation?" Nick asked.

Both shook their head. He started it and sat it on the floor. Nick held his hand out for the composite and photograph Tom held. They were of a large Latino woman and were nearly identical.

"You said this is your mother, and her name is Emery Joaquin?"

They nodded.

Red Dress Jane Doe #6 now had an identity. That just left #2 and #5 unidentified.

"She's the only one that there wasn't a missing persons report filed for. Why didn't you file one?" Nick asked

"Mother would always go back to our father in Mexico. Sometimes for a few weeks or a few months. They were always fighting, he'd beat her up, and she'd come back to America. We thought maybe he'd killed her. Have you ever tried to get the authorities in Mexico City to help you?"

Nick shook his head.

"It was pretty rare for them to even return calls, let alone take the accusation seriously."

"She never told you she was leaving?"

"Sometimes," Heidi said. "It just depended on when she left. And our father never answers our calls. We had no idea she wasn't there. But…"

The brother and sister look at each other.

"There was something different this time, wasn't there?" Nick asked.

They nodded.

Tom told him. A few weeks before she disappeared, she met a man. They became close friends. He told her not to go back to our father. I stopped by two days before she disappeared to pick up my kids and she was talking to our father on the phone. Then she was gone." He looked down, trying to hide his tears.

"Was she dating this other man?"

"No," Heidi answered. "They were just friends."

"What was his name?"

"Jonathan."

Nick wanted to run to his office, call Judge Jameson, and demand an arrest warrant. Instead he swallowed and asked, "Jonathan Massie? The actor?"

"Yeah. How did you know that?"

In a flat voice, he told the brother and sister, "He's a real friendly person.

#

Big Sky Ranch was twenty-two miles north of Paris, Texas. The nearest neighbor to the ranch was ten miles in either way. It was land that had seen little change, despite modern man's developments. Several dirt roads crisscrossed the property, leading to oil wells, a water tank, streams, and ponds.

Two thousand head of cattle normally roamed the open pastures. But today they'd been herded into two pastures, leaving the rest of the property open to the police, cadets, coroners, and volunteers.

In one gully Sheriff Lopez watched a crew of two volunteers and three cadets exhume remains. The body was decayed beyond recognition. The red silk dress was threads and scraps of silk. But the pearls strung on silver had withstood the brutal summers and winters in the ground and still gleamed.

He pulled a hand radio off his belt, keying it as he lifted it to his mouth. "Lopez to dispatch."

"Go ahead Frank," the woman dispatcher responded.

"Get that Las Vegas investigator on the line. Tell her we have something. Then call William and have him get some aerials of these gulches. Next call Joyce, tell her drop whatever she's eating, and pull up every missing persons we've got of every woman over two hundred pounds. Tell her I want a bulletin sent to every plum town within a hundred miles of us."

"That's a lot of people to call. How many people have you guys found?

He turned. All the way up the gulley to where the walls rose twelve feet overhead, people were exhuming bodies in remnants of red silk dresses and silver and pearl necklaces.

"Enough to make me think about telling my girls to take down every Jonathan Massie poster in their rooms. That asshole is sick."

#

Catherine and Wendy had aerial photographs of seven properties spread across the light table. In them were pictures of people and open graves. Several had blue tarps where the remains of dogs and chimpanzees were laid out. In two there were a handful of corpses with pieces of red. That number exploded in the seven aerials from the Texas property. Someone had marked the graves before they were sent to the Las Vegas CSI. Catherine held a red grease pencil in one hand, a magnifying glass in the other, and was waiting.

Wendy ran her finger down the top paper on the stack in her hand.

"Here it is. Marker twenty-seven. Melissa Raez. Missing since August 14, 1994 from Houston, Texas."

Catherine used the magnifying glass to find the marker, and jotted the name next to it.

She and Wendy looked up when Nick walked in and sat on a stool. He looked exhausted.

"Finished with the families?"

Nick nodded.

"Do you need a break?"

He shook his head. "Not until we get to arrest America's sweetheart." Nick stood, leaning on the table. "He had contact or the opportunity to have contact with every four of the girls. Numbers two and five are still unidentified."

"The lab in Houston faxed over more missing persons matching our criteria. We had a match on the DNA of number two. Laura Shaul, eighteen, missing from Waco, Texas for a year and a half."

"I guess it's something that just one of my girls still has no name," Nick said.

It was a sobering statement that for a moment silenced and stilled Catherine and Wendy.

"I spoke to Judge Jameson again. Told her about the stalker charge, the human corpses found on his past properties. She's writing the warrant to search Jonathan Massie's property and arrest him."

Nick picked up a photograph. "Which are people?"

"All the ones in Texas, and then a few on the farm he owned in Indiana before moving to Texas. All total, forty-two." Wendy answered.

"And the animals?"

"About eighty. Some of the labs were able to determine not all the animals died from food. Some just starved to death."

"Those must have been his first ones, before he knew how to kill them with food."

"The property in South Carolina was the first property he bought when he turned eighteen," Catherine said, pointing at the aerial of it. "That's where he started with dogs. The guy is now forty-two. He's been killing for twenty-four years and no one has ever suspected anything."

"You said it yesterday Catherine. This guy has friends in all the right places. He has a humanitarian award. America loves him. Why would any suspect him to be a psychopath?" Nick smiled. "Until he chose Natalie, of course. She managed to destroy everything he built with a spider."

Brass walked into the room holding up two pieces of paper. "This paper lets us search Massie's property." He gave the appropriate paper a little jiggle. "And this paper here, this is the best one. It lets us arrest him." Brass smiled. "Who wants to go turn America's sweetheart in to public enemy #1?"

"Wendy, keep marking these graves," Catherine ordered as she and Nick followed Brass out.

Wendy nodded, watching them leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The drive up to the main house was bordered with healthy grape vines infested with workers tending them. Nick sat behind the passenger seat of Catherine's Denali, watching the workers try to hide their interest. Had they been part of hiding what Jonathan Massie was doing?

Ahead Brass was leading three police cars and CSI Denali. They pulled up to the front as Jonathan and his lawyer, Lehman, came out of the house. Everyone got out, but the officer from the front car and Brass were the first to approach them.

"Jonathan Massie?" Brass asked.

"Yes."

"We have a warrant for your arrest and to search your property."

"For what?"

"Evidence that you murdered six women on this property and kidnapped and tortured at least seven more."

Lehman held out his hand for the warrant. Brass handed it over and he read it. He sighed, glaring at Brass.

"We have to let them and you have to go with them, Jonathan."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Jonathan protested. He looked past Brass and pointed. "You're behind this, aren't you?"

With field kits in hand, Nick and the CSI were climbing the stairs toward them.

"How many did you claim I murdered?" he asked Nick.

Nick stopped next to Brass and answered, "Six in Nevada."

"Six? I didn't kill six women!"

Nick was unabashed by Jonathan's claim of innocence. The officer walked up and took Jonathan's arm. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Jonathan yanked his arm away, making everyone lay their hands on their weapons.

Secretly Nick was saying a little prayer. _Please, please, God, if you have any sense of justice, make him do something that give me a reason to fill him with lead. For my girls. For Natalie._

Jonathan looked around him, his eyes coming back to Nick. In that instant Nick knew his prayer wouldn't be answered. The killer knew he had lost, and he had no desire to die. Jonathan didn't get in a rush as he turned and put his hands behind his back. The officer handcuffed him and they headed to his car.

"You and everyone else needs to vacate the property," Brass told Lehman.

Lehman went back inside with Brass and an officer.

"Why don't you and Greg start on the perimeter?" Catherine suggested. "I doubt he kept them inside his house."

Greg and Nick headed back down the stairs to start searching the outer buildings.

#

Catherine walked through the upstairs hall of Jonathan Massie's vineyard villa, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor.

"This is his room," a woman said.

Catherine turned her attention toward the voice. A young woman barely in her twenties stood with an officer at the door. She'd been crying. She motioned at a door.

"This is his room," she repeated.

Catherine walked to the open door, looking inside. She looked at the woman.

"I thought you and Jonathan Massie were dating."

She looked down, tapped her toe on the marble. "Did you ever get the feeling something was really wrong with the guy you were with?"

"Lots of times."

She looked at Catherine. "I could never explain it. Couldn't put my finger on it even. But something wasn't right about him. And he spend a lot of time down at the storeroom. Then there were the scabies. They kept coming back. His doctor would keep prescribing the cream, no questions asked. If this hadn't happened, Mrs. Willows… I was going to leave him soon. I should have listened to my friends when they said stay away from this guy."

"Then why'd you date him?"

"He was Jonathan Massie. What woman wouldn't date him?"

Catherine nodded. She understood that.

"Thank you for helping us. Can you wait downstairs with the detective?"

The woman nodded. She and the officer left Catherine to the empty room. Catherine walked in and began a slow, methodical search of the room. Her hopes of finding anything began to diminish as nothing turned up.

Finished searching, she turned her back on the closet to leave. And froze. She felt something on the back of her neck; a very soft, cool breeze. Catherine turned, looking at the close. It was a walk in close twice as big as her office. In the center of it was a counter with drawers. Catherine stepped back into the room, turning the light back on.

She realized something was off. The clothes in the closet were men's. The young woman's clothes she'd seen in a guest bedroom down the hall. And hadn't the woman said she and Jonathan never slept in the same bed? Not unheard of, but if they were living together, it seemed unusual to Catherine.

Catherine went to her kit and pulled out a roll of light gauze. She tore off a piece and went back in. She held it out, away from her, and moved it into the breeze she'd felt. She walked around the closet until she pinpointed where the breeze was coming from. She looked up at an air duct overhead. That was a strange location for one in a closet. She looked at the wall she was facing and wrapped on it with her knuckles. It was hollow.

She tapped across it until she found where the hollow met solid. With her flashlight Catherine searched for the seam. She found it, well hidden by molding. With some pushing and a few choice words, she finally discovered the wall slid up into the ceiling. She lifted it up, revealing a hidden room behind it.

This room was simple compared to the rest of the closet and bedroom. On one side were two racks filled with red silk dresses. Catherine stepped into the room, staring at the dresses. She guessed there had to be at least a hundred. She turned. There were two shelves; one stepped up from the other, with oblong black velvet boxes. She pocketed pulled on gloves and picked one up. The box opened with a soft click, revealing a silver and pearl necklace nestled in blood-red velvet.

Catherine felt sick as she turned back to the dresses. If today had never happened, if Natalie had never been found alive, if Nick had never followed his hunch, Jonathan Massie might have starved enough women to fill all those dresses and wear all these necklaces. For the first time since she'd been on this case, without even knowing it, she felt the same rage Nick had been harboring since he found who the killer was.

#

Nick and Greg came out of the rows of grapevines and were confronted by an old stone building with a padlocked door.

"We'll have to go back and get—"

Greg didn't get to finish. Nick drew his gun and shot off the lock.

"Or we could just shoot it," Greg said. "Never mind it's evidence… Fingerprints and all."

"Whine on your own time, Greg," Nick told him.

He pulled off the lock and pushed the door open. A breath of cool air greeted them, but they couldn't see inside the darkness. He saw a light switched by the door and flicked it. Dim light bulbs inside barely penetrated the darkness.

Nick pulled his Maglite off his belt. With caution and his gun drawn, Nick entered the building. Greg stayed behind him, checking left and right as they walked. They started down a wide aisle lined with floor to ceiling wooden barrels.

"Must be where the wine ferments," Greg said.

They were nearly to the end when Nick spotted a door behind two barrels. He walked between themside and stopped. The door was shut and had two sliding locks and a New York lock on the outside – it was meant to keep things in. Nick pushed the bar aside and slid the locks back. He took a moment to drape a rubber glove over the door handle before he twisted it open and slowly pulled back. Too many weekends of horror movies made him expect something dead but alive to jump out at him, but nothing did. What did great him is the soft sound of someone singing and a curving staircase.

"Call for the paramedics," Nick said as he started down the steps.

"You think they're down there?"

"I bet my life on it."

Greg ran back to make the call.

With his gun gripped tightly in his hand, Nick started a slow descent.

The stairs opened into a richly decorated dining room. Along one wall were exotic pets, including a collection of spiders. The singing was coming from a parrot as it imitated someone it had once heard or who had trained it. Nick passed the animals to the door on the far end. He reached for the door handle. Bracing himself, he pulled it open, and was hit by the smell of sickness and decay. He flipped the light switch next to the door, illuminating a horrific sight.

Six of eight dungeon-like cells have women in them at varying levels of starvation. The worst of the two lay listless on the cold stone floor, staring at nothing. The others watch him with wide, terrified eyes, among them the teenager Jonathan signed the autograph for at the casino. They all wore dirty, worn cotton gowns that barely cover them. The four that had been there the longest showed signs of scabie trails across their skin.

Nick took a step into the prison. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he turned, prepared to fight. Catherine pulled him back.

"You can't go in there, Nick. Not without a suit."

Two paramedics and a CDC doctor in Hazmat suits pushed past them. The room quickly swarmed with more people coming to the women's aid.

"What do you say, Nick?" Catherine asked.

"What?" He turned his head.

"Let's go put some nails in Massie's coffin."

He smiled. "Now you're talking."

The two CSI headed back to the surface.

#

Jonathan and his lawyer, Lehman, sat at the table in the interrogation room. Both looked up when Catherine and Brass entered the room and sat down. Catherine sat a thick folder on the table beside her.

Lehman stood, snarling at them, "We have been in here for eight hours and no official charges have been filed. If you don't charge my client, then you will release him."

"Sit down," Brass firmly ordered.

Lehman hesitated.

"Sit."

The lawyer obeyed.

"We are charging your client with six counts of murder in the first degree, twelve counts of kidnapping, along with holding persons against their will, torture, assault, rape, and sexual abuse." Brass leaned on the table. "And that's just what Las Vegas PD is charging him."

"What do you mean that's just what Las Vegas PD is charging? Who else is pressing charges?"

"There's a D.A. in Houston that can't wait to get his hands on your client. He's going to press thirty-nine counts of murder. There are also D.A.'s in South Carolina, Kentucky, Washington, and Maryland who are just dying to throw in animal cruelty charges. Forty-seven, right?" Brass looked at Catherine.

"Forty-seven," she answered with a nod. She pulled an aerial of the South Carolina property, setting it before Jonathan. He glanced at it, but didn't react. "Mister Massie, I'd like to talk to you about this property."

"What about the property?" Lehman asked.

She put a finger on the photograph "This is 452 Rosehip Lane, in Brooksdale, South Carolina. At present local law enforcement has uncovered fourteen graves on the property, each containing a dog that appears to have been starved to death. Do you care to explain that, Mister Massie?"

He looks at Lehman, who nods.

"I don't know anything about them."

She smiled. "You don't?"

He shook his head.

"I doubt that. In June of 1994 you sold your property in South Carolina and purchased this property." She put another aerial in front of Jonathan. Still no reaction or emotion. "This is 4325 County Road 57, near Lexington, Kentucky. Twelve graves have been found with the remains of chimpanzees. Forensics in Kentucky has been able to determine that all the chimpanzees died of starvation."

Lehman opened his mouth but she cut him off.

"And before you argue that the chimpanzees could be anyone's, Mister Lehman, several had microchips tags. All of them were purchased by your client."

Lehman glanced at his client but neither spoke. She placed another aerial before him, and then added eight more. The entire area of Big Sky Ranch appeared before Massie. He stared at them, still showing no emotion.

"In 1998 you sold your Kentucky property and purchased 12453 County Road 56, Paris, Texas. These photographs show the areas where multiple graves have been found. There were a few with chimpanzees, but the rest contained human remains, all female, all starved to death. Also found on the property was a prison similar to the one found at the vineyard." She pointed to a location on one of the photographs, a spot not far from the main house. "The staircase had been filled in. Five bodies were recovered from this. We have been able to match DNA from most of the victims to women missing from Texas and Kentucky. You moved the women you kidnapped from Kentucky to Texas. Why didn't you take the women from Texas to Montana with you?"

"These bodies you found on that property could have been there before my client ever owned the property," Lehman argued.

Catherine shook her head. "Forensics proves they weren't. They were there when he was. But it's when you went to Montana that you altered your pattern, Mister Massie. You purchased a farm outside Missoula, Montana, but you were only there for four months before you moved to the vineyard in Moapa Valley. We didn't find any corpses of bodies or animals on the Montana property. Why did you move so quickly?"

Nick entered the room and walked across it to the one-way mirror. He leaned against it. Jonathan watched him with a burning glare. Nick just held it, waiting patiently for his moment.

"If there were no bodies on the Montana property, then it couldn't have been my client that did any of this," Lehman said.

"But it was," Catherine replied. "And what I find very interesting about your time in Montana, is that for the first time in your life you had a run in with the law. You stalked a consultant of the Missoula Police Department. She filed charges and had a restraining order issued against you. You were arrested twice for breaking the restraining order, and the second time, when you got out, you moved within thirty miles of her. Why is that? Why did you change your pattern? Had you become confident in your ability to kill and get away with it?"

"My client has not had contact with that woman for nearly a year!"

"Yes he has. Intimate contact," Brass argued back. "And her getting the tickets to the premiere was no accident. Natalie's boss remembers speaking to someone who said he was Massie's manager. He said he was paid three hundred dollars to make sure she got those tickets.

"Yeah. He did that. Almost a year ago. My client wanted to apologize to her in person and without a bunch of press. It's not a crime to pay someone to give someone else tickets."

"I'm sure apologizing was the first thing on your client's mind when he set this all up."

"Course, it's really the dresses and the necklaces that did you in, Mister Massie," Catherine continued.

"What dresses?" Lehman almost looked at Jonathan.

"He had a dozen red silk dresses in a hidden room inside his closet. The dresses are the same style, the same length, as the dresses found on the recent victims. But more importantly, they are made from raw, hand-dyed silk. Do you know what makes that so valuable as evidence, Mister Massie?" Catherine leaned on the table. "It still retains some of it's DNA, and that DNA matched the dresses found on the murdered women both here, in Texas, and the other locations across the country. The silver and pearl necklaces also found in this room have identical mineral composition as those found on the deceased."

Jonathan didn't take his eyes off Nick. "I didn't kill any women."

Nick smiled. "Oh but you did, Jonathan. You did," Nick replied. "The scabies found on you, in the cells, and on the six dead women have matching genomes. It means they came from the same infestation – your cells."

Jonathan smiled. "Six women?"

"Yes. Six," Catherine answered.

"I didn't do this. I didn't kill six women here in Las Vegas."

Nick walked up to the table and leaned on it, never taking his eyes off Jonathan. "Is the number off? Was I supposed to say seven?"

Jonathan didn't answer.

"Were expecting to hear Natalie Greer, the woman you stalked all the way to Las Vegas, was among the dead women?" Nick asked with a smug smile. "Here's a little recap of events since you left her in a trash dump. Natalie knew that when you took her out of her cell, you planned on killing her. She may not have known you were going to serve her the best food in the world to do it, but she knew it. That food would have sent her system into shock, and killed her. But, you see, Natalie was far smarter than you. When you left the room to answer the knock at the door, she went over to the terrarium housing a Brazilian Wandering spider and made it bite her. See, Natalie has all the Las Vegas spirit of a native. She bet her life on the spider's venom paralyzing her, making you think she'd died. You'd then leave her where she would be found. Alive." Nick leaned in a little closer. "Natalie Greer tricked you, Jonathan. She's alive. And worse, you should see the size of her legal team – turns out the governor of Montana is a _very_ generous man."

The room was silent. Jonathan stared at Nick. He couldn't hide the surprise behind a stoney mask. He didn't even appear to be breathing.

"You're lying," Jonathan finally said.

Nick stood up, hooking his thumbs in belt loops. "Can't believe you made such a big mistake, can you? After twenty-four years of starving women to the brink of death, and then giving them the best meal of their lives, just so he could watch them die in agony."

Jonathan didn't respond.

"I have to admit, there is just one thing that's got us all baffled here, Jonathan. Why were you so determined to get Natalie? The lengths you went to get your hands on her are what exposed you. Why was she so special?"

Jonathan looked away. Lehman glanced from him to Nick several times.

"My client did not commit these murders," Lehman argued.

"He did. And we're not done proving it," Nick told him. "I guess Natalie wasn't special after all. Just another one of your victims."

Nick headed for the door. He had better things to do than try to convince a serial killer to explain himself. He had evidence and reports to get in order, tests to have triple checked, and a family he was finally able to reunite.

"She loved her husband," Jonathan said.

Nick stopped. He turned. Everyone stared at Jonathan.

"She loved her husband?" Catherine asked.

Jonathan smiled. It was sadistic, and cheapened the words that followed. "She was full of love. She needed to be freed so everyone could see that. She touched my hand once, before she went back to her husband. Before he turned her on me. It was so soft. Her voice is smooth. And she tastes like—"

Lehman snarled, "Stop talking, Jonathan. If you keep talking, I can't help you."

Jonathan looked at him, glanced at them, and turned his eyes to his hands on the table. The mask of the actor, humanitarian, and America's sweetheart, had returned.

Catherine stood, collected everything in her folder, and then leaned on the table. He looked at her.

"Do you know what your biggest mistake was with Natalie, Mister Massie?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked up but he didn't answer.

"You underestimated her. Despite the hunger, the torture, the abuse, nothing could erase years of instinct. She knew how people like you think and she out smarted you. You chose poorly."

She tapped the folder once on the table and then left. Nick and Brass exchanged a look, and then Nick trotted to catch up to her. They walked in silent for several minutes, Nick staring at Catherine.

She told him, "That last comment he made makes me think we may be able to build a stronger case if we get a forensic psychologist to evaluate him."

"You taunted him."

"I did not."

"You did! You taunted him!"

"I wasn't taunting. I felt the need to point out she was just too smart for him."

Nick grinned. "You can call it a horse if you want to, Catherine, but you were taunting him."

Catherine just smiled.

"You know, I was thinking, when she's better, maybe we could have her consult for us from time to time."

Catherine stared at him. "What?"

"Everyone I've talked to in Missoula keep saying she was a great asset, knew her bugs, was great on the stand."

"You think she's cool, don't you?" Catherine asked and grinned.

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"I think she's endearing. We'll see. But now, you need to go let her husband know she's alive. Grissom told me she's been for them more the last couple of days."

"You'll finish preparing the case?"

"Yes. Take the morning to help the family get put back together. She'll appreciate it."

"See ya back here tomorrow. Same crime time!"

The two parted at a hall.

Catherine answered back, "Same crime channel."

* * *

_Author's Note__: Ever wonder where a writer's inspiration comes from? That runs the gamut, but for this story in particular it was two paintings. The Valpincon Bather" (Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, 1806) and "After Ingre's Bather 2009" (Remus Grecu/OGILVY FRANKFURT, 2009). From there, all those failed diets and New Years promises conjured up some dark idea._


End file.
